


a dark alley and a bad idea

by pocketbat



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alley Sex, Established Relationship, Nonbinary Character, Other, POV Second Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 07:32:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13383120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketbat/pseuds/pocketbat
Summary: Julian demands to be ravished, the apprentice does some problem-solving, and the boots stay on. And no one gets arrested for public indecency, which is a goddamn miracle.





	a dark alley and a bad idea

**Author's Note:**

> I use my own apprentice, Vush, in my Arcana fic, but you're welcome to copy & paste this into a Word doc or something and then find & replace "Vush" with a name of your choice.
> 
> Vush is nonbinary, and my Arcana fic is written with that in mind. Sometimes I write them with a dick, sometimes I write them with a vulva, and sometimes I leave their genitals unspecified. This fic features AMAB Vush. Vush is a sadist (with masochistic tendencies) and a top. I write their interactions with Julian "Huge Friggin' Masochist/ Sub" Devorak accordingly, so their characterization may not match all apprentices.
> 
> Title is, obviously, a take on "I've Got A Dark Alley And A Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth" by Fall Out Boy.

You're having a great evening. Your belly is full of hearty lamb stew, your tankard is full of beer, and you've got Julian squirming up against you in a dark corner of the Rowdy Raven. 

"Vush," he whines, "you horrible tease, I can't take this." He's flushed from drink, from the way you've been kissing and biting along his neck, leaving red semicircles that he'll have to hide with his coat. "I hope you'll have mercy on me, my dear, because I am literally dying."

"Oh, are you?" you murmur, encircling his wrist with your hand and digging your nails in. "Is this terribly hard for you to bear?" You've been toying with him for ages, seeing what you can get away with, while he eggs you on.

He wiggles his eyebrows, dizzy drunk and _happy_ for once--god, your heart might just explode. "Terribly hard is exactly the right phrase. Let's get out of here--what do you say?"

"No," you say, amused. You sip your beer, enjoying the golden, mild wheat brew, rolling it on your tongue. "You're going to have to wait a bit longer. Do you think you can be patient for me?"

"I'll be good," he says immediately. He leans over to kiss you, soft and uncoordinated. "I'll be very good."

"Yes you will," you say, squeezing the back of his neck. It might look friendly and comforting to any prying eyes, but you squeeze _hard,_ so his mouth falls open. He shivers at your possessive, rough touch.

~~~~

True to his word, Julian is very good. He whines dramatically about being teased, and you have to bat his hands away from your crotch under the table more than once, but he waits until you've finished your beer. You may have savored it a little more than you normally would, just for fun.

When you say that you're ready to go, he all but leaps out of the booth. You lead him out the door, taking his hand. Obediently, he stumbles along with you, gloved hand engulfing yours. The leather is soft, skin-warm.

"Now I'll fuck you," you say quietly, once you're out on the street, just for his reaction. Julian delivers--he sways toward you, all six-foot-plus of him going pliable, receptive. He bites his lip.

"Now? As in _right_ now?" he says plaintively. "Because I'll be good for you, Vush, I want to be so good, but I want--" He ducks his head, chewing his lip. "I don't want to wait. Do you want me here? You can have me here. I'll do whatever you want."

You really had intended to take him home. But the beer has gone to your head, and Julian is just so... eager, so utterly willing to fulfill your dirtiest fantasies, even the ones that you'd never expected to realize.

"Right now is good," you blurt. He tugs on your hand, gesturing toward a nearby alley.

"Here, no one goes down here."

You follow him down the alley, which is so narrow that the walls on either side seem to loom inward and close over your head. It's a cozy little nook--you can't help but wonder if Julian has used it for questionable purposes before.

Once you're out of sight from the street, Julian bends and latches onto your mouth. You reach up and curl your fingers in his hair, kissing him deeply, loving the sensual, familiar motions of his lips and tongue. He's sloppy from drink and eagerness, and he tastes like the dark, creamy stout he was drinking.

You press him up against the wall and he makes a hungry noise, shifts his weight so he can hook one of those long, long legs around you. You nestle in against his body, arching and stretching so you can savor the feel of his broad chest, his hardening cock, his strong thighs.

Though you keep one ear cocked for sounds from the street, the night remains quiet. It gets harder and harder to remain watchful as Julian's hands slide across your back, as he makes needy little noises into your kiss. His hips jerk, and then he starts grinding against you, smooth little rolls of his hips--god, your dear, gawky doofus of a partner can be sensual as anything, too. You sneak your hand between your bodies, feel him up through his pants, squeezing until he whimpers.

Julian frees his mouth. "Ah--Vush--we have some _business_ to attend to." In the shadows, you can't really make it out, but you're sure he waggles his eyebrows. "I've been good, haven't I? How do you want me?" His lovely, resonant voice gets breathier by the word. "I'll do whatever you want, I really will--"

"I know you will," you say, giddy with the knowledge. "Gods, I'm so lucky."

Julian makes a noise that he will later deny was a squeak. "Vush, Vush, _I'm_ the lucky one--"

"We're both lucky, sweetness," you coo, unable to contain your fondness. "Now, about this sleazy back-alley fucking..."

He laughs, a full-throated bark of delight. "Yes, that. Ravish me, Vush, I want you to pin me to the wall and fuck me--"

_"Yes,"_ you say, eyes going wide. "Let's do that. How are we going to--are you just going to take your pants off?" Briefly, you wish Julian wore skirts; that would make things much easier and be quite fetching besides.

Julian contemplates it. Drunk as he is, you can see the wheels turning. "Yes," he announces, pleased with himself.

With a laugh that sounds suspiciously like a giggle, he plants his ass on a rickety, discarded crate and yanks off one tall boot, then the other. Sock feet treading the alley floor gingerly, he stands and takes off his trousers, then puts them on the crate. He's really doing it, the madman. He sheds his smallclothes--you snatch them away from him and stuff them in your pocket before he can toss them across the alley.

"Might want those later," you say. Julian shrugs, rakish grin splitting his face in two.

"Ugh, the ground is slimy," he says. He sits back down on the pants-covered crate, which creaks loudly under his weight, bends to grab his boots, and pulls them back on.

"Yessss, put the boots back on," you purr. Foot still halfway inside the shaft of his left boot, Julian draws you into a kiss.

"I know how much you like them," he says, and you're sure he'd wink if he had two eyes to do it with. He finishes yanking his remaining boot up and stands, unsteady, spreading his arms with a flourish. Naked from the waist down, half-hard and framed by the damn boots--his legs look about a league long, and you want to lick the black leather. "Where do you want me? I don't think that crate will stand up to anything, ah, energetic."

You shove him back against the wall again, hard, following him and pinning him with your full weight.

"Ooh." Julian rolls his hips against you, his immediate blush barely visible in the dim light. He slings a leg around yours, and you rut forward against him instinctively.

"I want to fuck you like this," you say. Your voice comes out husky.

"Yes, yes," he says, squirming. "Yes, please. Oh, but I'm too big to pick up--I'll have to turn around."

That _is_ a problem. You're not nearly as tall as Julian, and you'd need to be a solid brick of muscle to hold him up against the wall at your height. But you want to see his face, want to feel his legs wrapped around you, and you have a solution.

"I've got it," you say. "I know a, a floating spell--"

Julian bursts out in a peal of raucous laughter. "As long as I won't float away," he says. It's a mark of how drunk he is that he doesn't hesitate at all.

"No," you say, barely able to suppress your own laughter at the idea, "it just makes things lighter. I used to use it to rearrange furniture."

You press your hands against Julian's bare, warm, silky hips and concentrate. Your magic surfaces easily, even through the beer haze, and you direct it to flow out and envelope Julian, cocooning him in a web of softly glowing strands.

"That tickles," he says, watching the shining strands weave over him, then dissipate. "Did it work?"

You heft him by the hips, and his feet leave the ground without too much effort. "Sure did," you say, letting him settle back down.

"Marvelous," he says, "amazing, Vush, I _love_ you." He wraps his arms around your neck and pulls you into a kiss, all hungry tongue and soft lips. With one hand, you work open the fastenings of his shirt so that you can rake your nails down his chest. You find his nipple and roll it between your fingers so that he makes a throaty noise into your mouth.

"I love you too, Ilya," you say belatedly--you always make a point of returning the sentiment, you never want your sweet boy to doubt it--then dive back in. He scrabbles at the waistband of your trousers, the fastenings taking him twice as long because he refuses to stop kissing you while he gets them open. His hand, wrapped in butter-soft leather, finds your dick and you gasp.

With some readjusting, he gets you both in one hand, and if you thought you were gagging for it before, it's nothing to how you feel with the tender, throbbing heat of his cock against yours. You squirm happily in his grip.

"Do you have lube?" you say hopefully. Sometimes he has some in his capacious coat pockets.

"No, sorry," Julian says, pulling a face. "We can make do, can't we?" He rolls his hips, dragging his velvety, hard dick against yours in the cradle of his grip.

"Yes, we can." Knowing Ilya--knowing yourself--you really ought to get in the habit of carrying lube. But you don't have any oil on you, so you'll have to make do. He's taken you on nothing but spit before; he can do it again. You maybe like it more than you should.

Before you can get your hand wet, Julian leans forward, drops his head, and lets saliva drip from his lips, down onto both of you. It's arguably gross, and the night air makes it chilly by the time it touches your skin, but it's also hot as hell.

_"Fff,"_ you manage, floored. He looks at you, mouth wet, eye twinkling, and flashes you a shit-eating grin. "You do so love to push my buttons."

"Mmm," he says. "Here, do your hand too--" And he lets his mouth fall open, pink tongue out, so receptive and sweetly willing that you've got your fingers in your mouth before you know it. He sucks on your fingers hungrily, and your hips pump; you briefly lose track of your goal and fuck into his hand, against his swollen erection, while he does his best to pull you down his throat.

"Right," you say, finally. "I think that's enough." He groans plaintively when you pull your hand free, but he shifts his stance immediately, leaning back against the wall and opening his legs so that you can reach between them.

Julian is, to put it frankly, experienced at taking things up his ass. He doesn't need much prep--just the gentle press of your fingers inside, his body opening easily as you spread the meager lubrication. He hums and bites his lip as you warm him up; it's so nice being tucked deeply into his body like that, to nestle your grip into the curves of his ass, to be held by the warm, firm, columns of his thighs. Soft heat, damp skin, clouds of curly red hair.

He's done with it before you are, in fact. "Vush," he whines, dragging your name out. "Fuck me."

That's the sort of invitation you can't ignore. You pull free, spit in your hand, swipe it over your cock, and pick him up.

"Ah!" he says, startled. "My goodness. That's... certainly something." He wriggles experimentally, and you find that you're able to hold him with ease. The floating spell is working even better than you'd hoped.

His coat protects him from the rough bricks, so you can fuck into him without worrying about scraping him up--not that you really need to worry about that, given his preferences. With his shirt open and his pants gone, he looks deliciously vulnerable. You can't take your eyes off the pale flesh between the dark leather of his boots and the heavy blanket of his coat, the soft feathering of his ginger hair and his blood-dark cock and balls.  

He wraps his legs around you, helping to hold himself up as you navigate your dick up to his ass.

"This is going to hurt," you breathe. "Are you sure you want to do it this way?"

Julian nods, pupil blown. "It'll heal," he says, sending a jolt of heat into the bit of your stomach. He reaches for your cock, angling it toward himself as you spit in your hand one more time and gently pet it onto his hole, feeling him open and tremble around your fingertip. You press the head of your cock against him and let gravity do the rest.

As he sinks down onto you, Julian bites his gloved hand to stifle a moan. His body wraps around you, blindingly warm; his legs tighten around your back, embracing the rest of you.

"Oh, Vush," he gasps. "I-- Fuck. Fuck."

He goes down so achingly slow, his body opening for you gradually but surely. Every single twitch and clutch of his ass gets you harder; you can feel yourself starting to drip precome into him, easing the way.

"Hah. Fuck, that's a lot," he groans. "You feel so big like this, Vush."

"Hurts?" you murmur, enchanted by each microexpression of pain & pleasure & determination. He bites his lip.

"Y-yes. Not too much, it's perfect actually--" The harsh friction feels amazing for you too, and you lean in, nip at his neck and kiss under his blushing ear.

Once you're fully seated in him, he uses his legs for leverage and bounces himself a little. You suck in a breath, shift your hands so you've got handfuls of his ass, thrust experimentally. Your position seems stable enough, so you lean in, drape yourself on him so he's pressed to the wall, and start rocking into him.

Julian makes a pleased noise and nuzzles into the side of your neck. Your world abruptly narrows to the luscious clench of his ass, his heavy breathing and subtle trembling, the way he mouths and bites at your sensitive throat.

You keep your motions small at first, just in-in-in without pulling out much, but you know he'll want more, harder, and you won't be satisfied if you don't get to rail him.  


"You're so good," you breathe fondly. "You feel so good. How's this?"

"Don't be so gentle, Vush," he says, looking at you heavy-lidded, "I can take it."

You grin. "I knew you'd say that." Julian's masochism and his unnaturally durable body make a great pair. "Well, I think you've earned it--even though you were so greedy and kept pawing at me--"

Julian whines; his thighs cinch around you, boot leather creaking, and you savor the tight press of his muscles even as you start to put your back into it.

"C-can I," he starts raggedly. "Can I touch myself?" The way he asks permission, like his body is more _yours_ than it is his, wrecks you every time.

"Yes, Illya, good boy," you say, and pick up the pace as he wraps his hand around his erection. His moan echoes in the confined space as your hips snap; the drag and burn of his opening up and down your cock makes your blood boil. He keeps pace with your thrusts as he touches himself, his precome smearing between you. You lick your lips, momentarily longing to get your mouth on him, to taste that wetness.

"I wanted this all night," he breathes, his hand busy between your bodies.

"Tell me," you growl. "Tell me what you were thinking."

Julian's eye flicks wide open, and he babbles, voice high and broken, "I thought--I thought I'd crawl into your lap before the evening was done."

You knew that--you could practically smell it on him--but it's so satisfying to hear it.

"Needed it," Julian goes on. "The only reason I didn't beg you was because I wanted to be good--"

"My gorgeous, slutty boy," you rasp, slamming into him harder. "Did--Did you want to spread your legs for me right there?" It's so hard to focus enough to talk, but gods, you need him to hear the filth boiling up inside you. "Should I have shoved you down on a table and split you open?"

Julian wails, and he clenches down on you. "Yes, Vush, _yes_ \-- I wanted you to fuck me right there. W-wanted you to use me without caring what I thought, what anyone thought--"

"You're so good," you groan, hips twitching up and up and up. "Letting me fuck you out here like this, loving it-- you're so perfect, so good."

He whimpers.

"You'd have been just as perfect inside, giving it up for me on the table--"

"Aaahh, fuck--" he sobs, trying to bounce on your cock, writhing between you and the wall. "I wish--I wish you'd done it--"

"Should I have just _made_ you? Gods, I should have done it--"

"I'd let you," Julian gasps, hand desperate and fast on his dick. "I want-- I want to be used--"

"That's what you're good for, isn't it? Wish I'd stripped you and slapped you around in the damn tavern, you'd have bent over and begged for it like a bitch in heat in front of everyone--"

The idea lights you up, makes you hungry and mean and desperate. You nail him in earnest, giving him the full length of your cock without worrying about damaging him, hoping it hurts. By the tone of his choked-off, throaty cries, it does--hurts him just right. What a fucking marvel he is, how utterly perfect he is for you.

As you pick up the pace even further, Julian gives up on touching himself and hangs onto you.

"So pretty with your legs around me like this, crying for it," you pant against his neck. God, you're close--your blood fizzes in your veins, waves of melting pleasure sweep through your body, threatening to spill over. He clings, pulls you closer--you can feel the big muscles of his thighs trembling, the way he's got one foot locked over the other to hold you inside him.

"More more more _please,"_ he sobs, desperate and whiny. "Please, please, please--" He kneads at your back, kittenish, hands weak with pleasure.

So you give him more, and you know your back and thighs and all the little nameless muscles in your hips and pelvis are going to hate this tomorrow, but it's so worth it to see and feel Julian come undone, spitted on you. Only all the practice you've gotten since you started dating him could have made you able to rut into him this fast, this relentless, with this much forward motion that buries you into his hot, soft insides.

He chokes off a scream, eye rolling back. Drool shines at the corner of his mouth--he can't control that, he can't control anything but the way he's clinging to you. His fingers are twitching atop your shoulders, convulsive.

"Oh--oh god, I--Vush, I'm gonna--" And then his back arches, his hips tremble, his brows knit and his mouth falls open--so obviously on the edge, your lovely boy. You redouble your efforts, fucking him so hard his back has to be rubbing raw, coat or no, and Julian rewards you with an honest-to-god _scream._ It's not the kind of scream that you could pass off as pain, not part of a fight or a mugging or even horseplay--it sounds like what it is, your good boy getting fucked in a back alley, so hot for it he's like a cat in heat, all clawing animal need.

If you weren't already a hair's breadth from coming, that would have gotten you there. Julian shakes apart in your arms, trembling, coming messily all over himself, heels digging into your back, and you follow him, off like a firecracker. You empty yourself into him, vividly fucking aware that you're filling him up, breeding him.

Your floating spell dissipates as your orgasm wracks you, and you stagger under Julian's full body weight. He's too much of a mess to help you much, bless him, and you have to slip your dick out of him and settle him on his feet mostly by yourself. You're both jelly-legged and panting--it's a miracle that neither of you crash to the dirty cobblestones.

Julian clings to you for support, grinning blearily and gasping. "Vush, Vush," he murmurs, nuzzling into the join of your neck and shoulder. "You're _amazing."_

"No, you," you pant, kissing him. "I love you; I love everything about fucking you. Wow." You'd elaborate, but you think your brain may have leaked out of your ears.

You glance around, checking to make sure that Julian's pants are where he left them and that no one has come to investigate your noises. Everything seems to be in order; you look over your boyfriend as well.

Julian is a masterpiece of debauchery. Legs trembling, looking wrecked, mostly naked except for the coat and shirt hanging off his shoulders and the damn boots up to his thighs. You realize your come is starting to leak out of him, sliding wetly down his thigh, toward the top of his boots. You want to shove your face between his legs so badly it hurts, want to push it back into him and then keep your fingers there, give him two then three then your _tongue--_

"Need more, Vush?" Julian says, grinning. Your thoughts must be showing on your face. "I'm good for it." He wobbles, has to catch himself against the wall. "Take me home, tie me to the bed and have at it. I'm yours."

"You're mine," you agree happily. "Let's go home. But please put your trousers on first."


End file.
